


The Only Way

by Corycides



Series: Ecstasy of Betrayal [3]
Category: Revolution (TV)
Genre: Kinkmeme, Multi, Uncle/Niece Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-30
Updated: 2012-12-05
Packaged: 2017-11-20 00:07:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 7
Words: 14,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/579118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Corycides/pseuds/Corycides
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charlie got used to sleeping through Miles’ snoring (he still hadn’t touched her, it was starting to feel like a pointless distinction) and Monroe pressed against her back like a full-size hot-water bottle.</p><p>It scared her how easy it got.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Weeks crawled by and turned into months. After a month the other recruits quit giving Charlie a hard time. After two she had…friends, although she didn’t like that much….and after a few more other recruits started looking to her for protection. She even got used to sleeping through Miles’ snoring (he still hadn’t touched her, it was starting to feel like a pointless distinction) and Monroe pressed against her back like a full-size hot-water bottle.

It scared her how easy it got.

Then one morning she woke up cold, splayed out like a starfish in the heavy white sheets. She slid out of bed, tiles cold against her feet, and went to see where they were, trailing the sheet along with her. There was no sign of Monroe, but Miles was leaning over the huge, mahogany desk,. His weight was braced on one arm, fingers splayed against the sunlit map, and he was tracing routes with a compass. 

There was a stack of worn canvas bags at the door and the machine guns had been taken down off the walls. She hesitated, curling her foot around her other leg. ‘Miles?’ she said. ‘What’s going on.’

He glanced over his shoulder, eyebrows knit intently over dark eyes, and away again. ‘Georgia struck across the border’ he said. ‘They’re claiming territory. Bass and I need to be there.’

‘Leading from the front,’ she said.

That earned her a pleased half-smile over his leather-padded shoulder. ‘That’s right. Bass already has a division stationed down there, but we need to get them reinforcements in time or they’ll be overrun.

There had been a time that Charlie would have cheered that. It was harder now, even beyond her extremely complicated feelings for Miles and Monroe. People she knew would be there, families and parents. The militia was flawed, but the people weren’t. Not all of them.

Even some of the flawed ones, she cared about.

‘Miles.’ She tugged his arm. 

He heaved an exasperated sign and frowned at her, ‘What?’

She stood up on her tiptoes and hugged him, pressing her fists against his shoulder-blades. ‘You be careful? Take care of yourelf, take care of Monroe?’

Warm arms hugged her back, carefully proper, and he rested his chin on the top of her head. ‘We’ll be fine, Charlie. We’ve come through worse without a scratch.’

That wasn’t true. She’d seen the scars those non-existent scratches had left on them both. Taking a deep breath – she could do this – she grabbed Miles face in both hands and kissed him. A proper kiss, the sort of kiss he throatily promised when Monroe was inside her or touching her. Her thumbs stroked the hard planes of his cheekbones, finding the gritty lines under the skin where fractures had healed, and her lips moved hungrily against his.

Miles stood stock-still for a second, hardly even breathing, then grabbed her hips and tugged her close. His hand slid round to cup her backside, squeezing the scant curve, while she rubbed her cotton covered thigh against the hard ridge of his erection.

He choked a groan into her mouth, his hands rough and hungry against her skin, but he was the one to push her back. ‘I have to go,’ he said. His eyes dropped to her chest and lingered for a second before he dragged them away. ‘Charlie give me a break.’

The sheet had slipped, she realized, exposing most of one breast and all of the other. Her nipple was a tight pink bud, tender to the scrape of a sheet as she covered herself up again. 

He touched her chin, lifting her face with his knuckle. ‘Why today, Charlie?'

‘I want you home safe,’ she said. 

The brush of his finger up her jaw and along her cheek made her shiver. ‘Better motivation to keep my hide intact than I’ve had in a long time,’ he said. ‘I’ll be fine, I'll be home.’

She nodded, and smiled bravely, as he rolled up his map and slung his bag over his shoulder on the way out of the room. The door had barely swung shut when he kicked it open again, picking her up and swinging her around before claiming another kiss.

‘For luck,’ he said, setting her back on her feet. ‘I’ll see you soon.’

Then he was gone. Charlie sighed, rubbing her fingers over her lips. He wouldn’t see her when he got back. She and Danny would be gone by nightfall. By the time Monroe and Miles got back from the Georgia border they’d be in the Plains Nation.

She dropped the sheet and darted back into the bedroom, dressing and getting changed with the same focus she had when she started the walk to Chicago. Most of the stuff was hers from before – her spare militia uniform and any gifts were left were they lay. She did take the gun though, checking the mechanism of the heavy silver pistol with small, neat hands.

There was pride and being stupid.

She tucked the gun into the back of her jeans and shrugged her militia jacket on over it. 15 minutes and she was ready to go. Swinging the bag up onto her back she ran down stairs and join the crowd of loyal Monrovian’s in the huge courtyard. The people of Philadelphia did love Monroe. They cheered and whistled as the militia carts rolled out into the streets, black and white flags snapping in the wind, with the mounted soldiers behind them.

Charlie dropped the bag between her feet where it wouldn’t be seen, stepping on the strap just in case some ambitious little pick-pocket got the wrong idea. She craned her neck, ignoring the bump and push from people around her, and searched for Miles and Monroe, catching a glimpse of Monroe’s sandy head first. He was riding a black horse – of course, he was – that pranced and tossed its narrow head at the noise. The only reason she was there was so they’d see her and not think anything of it, but she went all tight and breathless when she waved anyhow. She wanted him to see her.

He did – flashing that grin that made her understand what Miles saw in him - and leant over to nudge Miles. The General was riding a much more prosaic looking white and brown, solid pony. She gave them both a quick smile, hoping nerves didn’t show in her face and waved them off. 

She was just dropping her hand when she saw another familiar face, marching along in militia blue. Nate. Jason, she corrected herself. He’d looked better in civilian clothes, playing her nomad hero boy. He’d betrayed them a couple of times and he’d saved her life twice. Charlie wasn’t entirely sure what that made him now.

Whatever it was, it seemed fair enough to wave to him too. Dark eyes gave a steady look, half turning to keep her in sight, and then he was gone. Charlie took a deep breath and shook her head, crouching to grab her bag. If things went to plan, she wasn’t going to see either of them again.

If things didn’t go to plan...she’d be dead, or locked up in the cells. For good.

She hitched her bag up on her shoulder and ducked back inside, walking briskly through the long, elegant halls. Her body wanted to run, her breath scratching in her throat and her heart thumping against her ribs, but that would just draw attention. Monroe wouldn’t trust her, not yet, one of the officers – probably Jeremy – would be set to watch her. 

Moving faster than he expected was her best chance. If Danny agreed. She ran up the stairs to his floor, taking the stairs two at a time, flashing smiles at the people she knew. Reaching the narrow door to his quarters - she’d asked why he couldn’t be on the same level as theme, Monroe said it was so she couldn’t run to him – and rapped the door.

It popped open right away and Danny scrambled out, bag over his shoulder and still tucking his shirt into his trousers.

‘We’re going?’ he said.

She pressed her lips together and took a deep breath through her nose. ‘We’re going. We just need to get mom.’

Danny scraped his hand through his hair, making it stand up and poke out around his ears. He’d refused to let her cut it and he wasn’t a kid anymore. It had been a long trip for him too. She still wanted to though.

‘Maybe we should have told her?’ he said.

‘No,’ she said, grabbing his arm and pulling him down the stairs. ‘She doesn’t do spontaneous, if she knew what we’d planned she’d have kept putting it off and off until it was perfect.’

‘We taking horses?’

Charlie hesitated, considering it again. It would be quicker, but it took time to get the horses saddled and signed out. Not to mention that Jeremy would know where they were going the minute he heard. If they walked, Jeremy might not realize they had gone until this evening.

‘Walk,’ she said, tugging his arm. ‘Just walk fast.’

They slipped out through a side gate, tagging along with a group of other recruits so the guard didn’t notice them. Once out of sight of the walls they dropped back and changed direction, heading for the power plant at a jog.

Charlie reached for her brother’s hand as they approached the crumbling old building. If she was right, there’d only be a skeleton guard left until reinforcements arrived. If – such a big word for only having two letters.

Danny gave her hand a fierce squeeze, nodding at her encouragingly, and stepped back. Ok. She took a deep breath, lifted her chin and thought of Monroe. Miles was good at bullying his way into places, but Monroe just walked in like he belonged.

She strode up to the front door and banged on it impatiently. The slot in the door snicked open and watery blue eyes peered out.

‘I’m visiting my mother,’ Charlie said, letting her eyes slid away from him as if she was bored.

‘And you are?’

That was her cue to glare, all flashing eyes and affronted chin. ‘I’m Charlotte Matheson,’ she said, annoyance dripping from her voice. ‘General Matheson’s-‘

He sniggered behind his grill. ‘Oh yeah,’ he said. ‘We know what you are.’

The tension bled out of Charlie’s spine like someone had opened a tap. Jerks were easy, jerks were stupid. They gave you the stick to beat them with.

‘Oh you do?’ she said, curling her lip in a subtle sneer. ‘Good. The general does love it when people know what I am. He promoted the last man didn’t he?’ she said glancing over her shoulder.

He crossed his arms, muscles flexing under his t-shirt, and smiled pleasantly. ‘Naw,’ he said. ‘He just killed him, eventually.’

‘Killed, promoted,’ Charlie said, turning back to the door. She flashed her sweetest, nastiest smile. ‘I get them confused. Now what was I again?’

‘…the Generals' guest,’ the guard said, eyes going tight at the corner. ‘I didn’t mean anything, ma’am.’

He wrestled the door open and waved them through, sweating though his uniform in a bleak funk. Miles still wouldn’t talk about what he’d done that made everyone so scared of him. Whatever it had been, it was effective.

Charlie rolled her eyes at him and strode by like there was nothing out of the ordinary in them being here alone. With Danny a carefully measured pace behind her – she wasn’t sure when they’d decided on that, but it was working – they strode through the dusty, empty factory. Charlie’s boots scuffed through blood-stains on the concrete floor, but she didn’t allow herself to think about that.

This was the last time she’d ever be here. Charlie pushed open the door to her mother’s workshop and paused. Her mom was sitting on the floor, long legs crossed, as she worked on the amplifier. Strausser stood behind, close enough that his legs brushed her back when she moved, close enough to make Charlie snarl.

‘Hey, Mom,’ Danny said, cheerful as if they weren’t about to become fugitives. ‘Have you had breakfast, you always forget to eat?'

Strausser turned. He moved like something you’d find in a stagnant pool, too stiff and smooth to look natural. Cold eyes – no Monroe had cold eyes, Strausser’s were dead –looked Charlie over from head to toe and his liverish tongue flicked over his lips.

‘What are you doing here?’ he said. ‘Mrs Matheson wasn’t scheduled for visitors today.’

If she killed him, it would be doing the world a favour. Charlie would rather not leave bloodshed behind her though. She wasn’t Miles, Monroe wouldn’t forgive her anything, and the more damage she caused the more pissed he’d be.

‘The Generals wanted to collect some weaponry before they deployed,’ Charlie told him, trying to remember the way she usually acted around him. Nobody acted at ease around Strausser, but she couldn’t look too tense either. She hugged her mom, Rachel’s fingers digging anxiously into her arm. ‘General Monroe wants to see you about a special project, asked you to meet him at the armory.’

He stared at her canting his head to the side. A slow, wet smile twitched over his face. ‘Maybe I’m to be your new bodyguard,’ he said.

She didn’t need to think how she’d react to that. The revulsion curdled in her throat. With a polite nod to their mother, Strausser left. His measured, steady footsteps clanked on the metal walkway and slowly faded.

‘What are you doing?’ Rachel blurted, eyes wide and desperate. ‘Monroe will kill you, he’ll kill Danny.’

‘Not if he can’t catch us,’ Charlie said confidently. Or a good approximation thereof. ‘Come on, let’s go.’

Rachel raked her hands through her hair, dragging it back from her face. Her eyes flicked around the lab, cataloguing. ‘OK, I need-‘

‘No,’ Charlie said. ‘We’re going. Now.’

‘But I need…I need clothes and supplies.’

‘They’re sorted,’ Charlie said, pushing her up the stairs. ‘We go now, and we get out through the access tunnel. If we can get deep enough into the woods we can hide there.’

Danny hooked Aaron’s bright pendant from the table and strung it around his neck. ‘And Monroe and Uncle Miles can’t afford to turn back from the Georgia front for this.’

Rachel stooped, hands gripping the rail till her knuckles went white, and took a deep breath. She let it out through pursed lips, flirting with a whistle.

‘You’re right,’ she said. ‘We have to go. Now.’

She leant over the rail and grabbed a wrench, hefting the big, rusted tool like a weapon. Armed now she scrambled up the rest of the stairs and out into the hall. It was Danny’s turn to take the lead. He’d studied the layout of this place in the library. The access tunnel would drop them right at the edge of the woods. 

If they got to there. If again.

A flicked of movement in the corner of her eye caught her attention. ‘Down,’ she yelled, tackling her mom around the waist. They hit the metal with a rattle and Charlie’s brain caught up with her instincts at the same time reality did. A bullet hit the wall, drilling into the cheap plaster at about the same level as Charlie’s head had been. Shit, she’d been expecting at least a minimal effort to capture instead of kill. Maybe Miles didn’t like her that much.

Her stupid feelings claimed to be hurt, but someone had dropped them on their head as a child. She pulled her gun and wriggled over to the edge, peering through the gap for the shooter. 

There. A short, dark haired recruit was running for the door with a rifle slung over her back. Tyler had spent hours training them for this. Forgetting that she was meant to be on the non-Monroe side, she took aim, exhaled and-

The shooter looked around. Even at this distance Charlie recognized Nora, something in the tilt of her head and set of her shoulders. Her finger hesitated, just resting on the trigger, then she pulled it. Slow and easy like Tyler always taught them.

It was too late. She missed the head shot, the bullet catching Nora’s shoulder. The other woman staggered but kept moving. Because she couldn’t afford to take a break,’ Charlie realized abruptly, because Nora was ‘good at blowing things up’.

‘Get up,’ she yelled at Danny, scrambling to her feet. ‘We have to get-‘

The world went up in a flash of smoke and heat and the rumbling bang of explosives. Charlie was sent flying by the force of the blast, slamming into the rail with her hip and back and then flipping it over it. She screamed, feeling the sound in her throat even though she couldn’t hear it, and grabbed at the walkway as she fell. Her fingers scraped over the rough metal and closed on a strut, jerked her fall to a joint-creaking stop. Leaving her dangling, by one arm, over the hard concrete floor.

She kicked her legs at nothing, trying to pull herself up. The walkway made an ominous creaking sound and rocked sickening towards her. Shit. Panic tasted like sour and sick in the back of her throat.

‘Danny?’ she yelled, trying to make herself heard over the low roar that filled the air. Or her ears. ‘Danny. Are you ok?’


	2. Chapter 2

Miles didn’t like horses. They smelt, they were uncomfortable and they had a mind of their own which made them a great deal less reliable than a motorbike. Monroe had dryly assured him this one was bomb-proof. He hadn’t seen fit to mention it was because the horse had a spine made out of rocks. Miles’ ass felt like someone had been hitting it with a bat for an hour.

He glanced over at Bass, who was treating his twitchy eared black the same way he’d treated a troop transport: ignoring it while obsessively checking his weapons. 

‘That thing’s gonna dump you on your ass.’

Bass glanced up from the gun, a frown nipped between his eyebrows, and then at the horse. He chuckled and patted its neck. 

‘Bu looks more high-strung than he is,’ he said. The ghost of a smile played over his mouth as he shrugged. ‘Have to make a good impression.’

Miles stood up in his stirrups, mostly to give his ass a break, and squinted along the marching, uniformed ranks of the militia. His militia – again – and sometimes he still felt bad about how good that felt. They’d made this, him and Bass, and even if it had cracks he was still proud of it. 

‘A move like this isn’t like Lucy,’ he said, reluctantly sitting back down. Damn, this had to be what having piles felt like. ‘She has to know we aren’t going to let her keep the territory, and she’s never been one to spend her forces without a tangible benefit at the end of it.’

‘It’s been a few years,’ Bass pointed out. ‘People change, and since the alliance the Plains Nation has been pushing her to be a lot more aggressive.’

Miles glanced sidelong at him, raising a brow. ‘What did happen there? When I, ah, left, we had a perfectly cordial relationship with Lucy. Next thing I know, Georgia’s our number one enemy.’

‘Texas,’ Bass said laconically. When Miles glared at him, he elaborated. ‘The Rangers were stripping the farms along the border bare. As allies went, the Plains were a lot better at discouraging that than us.’

Frustration poked at Miles – if he’d talked to Lucy, if they’d done this or that or the other – but he held his tongue. All the ifs, ands or buts in the world boiled down to ‘if I hadn’t left’. 

‘The Neville boy,’ Bass interrupted his brooding. ‘How close was he to Charlie?’

It took a second for Miles’ brain to follow the jump-the-tracks change of subject. Once he caught up he scowled. ‘Why? What’s the kid been saying?’

‘Nothing,’ Bass said. ‘He’s been looking.’

Miles hands twisted around the reins, scars showing white over his knuckles, until his horse snorted in protest. A dark, possessive part of him wanted to find the kid and rearrange that pretty face of his. He throttled it down, shoving it back into the background with all the rest of the dark, hungry urges. Let them fight it out in there.

‘She liked him OK,’ he said roughly. ‘Until she found out he was one of the guys that killed her Dad and took her brother. She’s not going to forget that.’

So was Bass, of course – one of those guys - but Miles wasn’t going to point that out if he didn’t have to.

‘That’s not what I asked,’ Bass said. ‘The boy objected when I sent Strausser after you and he got a beating for trying to find out what happened her. So will getting him laid fix it? Or is he going to go full Romeo and Juiliet?’

The dark and nasty crawled out long enough to point out that Miles could be rid of the competition – the young, too-tight shirted, uncomplicated and non-blood relative competition – but he mentally kicked it out of the way. He chewed on his lip as he thought about it.

‘Set him on Rachel,’ he said abruptly.

Bass gave a side-long look. ‘Is he her type? Although I suppose it has been a while for her, she might not be picky.’

Without really thinking Miles reached over to thump Bass on the shoulder. ‘That’s Charlie’s mom you’re talking about,’ he reminded him. One of the officers marching nearby gave him a petrified look, like he expected Bass to gut him there and then. ‘And no. The kid is good, though. He’s a good fighter, loyal, not particularly unbalanced and desperate for approval. Throw him a bone and he’s your dog. He’ll watch Rachel like a hawk, because he feels guilty about Charlie, and Rachel will be grateful to be rid of Strausser.’

He’d not asked about that, about why Bass’ favorite torturer spent so much time with Rachel. Not because he couldn’t have forgive Bass for it, but because he didn’t want to be the sort of person who could overlook that. Not asking, not officially knowing, gave him plausible deniability. 

Bass huh’d. ‘I’ll think about it.’ Thunder rumbled in the distance and he glanced up with a frown. ‘Damn, I hate marching in the rain.’

******

They had stopped to Wilmington to get a broken axle fixed – the local blacksmith sullen enough about the job that Miles caught himself glancing around for signs of rebel interest. He had just stepped outside for a breath of air that didn’t singe his throat when a courier came galloping down the road on a lathered horse, yanking it to a hoof-scraping halt in front of Miles. 

‘Sir,’ the skinny as a rake kid slid off the horse and whipped off a salute. ‘There’s been a rebel attack! Commander Baker sent me.’

‘Where?’

The courier gulped, throat bobbing behind his collar. ‘Willow Brook, sir.’

Shit. ‘Come with me,’ Miles ordered, grabbing the kid’s arm and marching him down the street to where Bass was consulting with Commander Grenville, who came from one of the border towns near Georgia, and a nervous but earnest Jason Neville.

‘Rebels attached the testing facility,’ Miles snapped, cutting off Bass’ irritated look. He shoved the courier forwards. ‘Report to General Monroe.’

‘Ah, rebels attacked Willow Brook this morning,’ the boy said. He pulled a roughly sealed letter out of his jacket, the paper creased and damp with sweat, and handed it over. He kept talking as Monroe cracked the wax and unfolded the report to read it, the words tripping over each other to get out. ‘They’re holding it now and they have hostages. He said that under the circumstances, Georgia might not be the issue. He didn’t say what he meant by that, sir.’

Bass handed the paper to Miles. ‘He didn’t need to,’ he said. ‘Neville, get some men and go fetch Sergeant Heaney? Don’t take no for an answer.’

Jason nodded sharply and jumped off the cart bed, gathering his back-up with a quiet nod or gesture on his way through the ranks. The kid really did have potential, Miles noted, before dropping his attention back to the note.

A stick figure sketch depicted the old factory, the stars and stripes flying from the roof, with rough estimates of the rebel forces and imprisoned militia scribbled along the side. Outside the factory there was a fat little cartoon of what was obviously meant to be Jeremy, waving the Republic’s flag with his forces noted on it.

‘Can’t you teach him to give normal reports?’ he asked, looking up.

Bass’ mouth quirked at the old joke. Of the founding members of the militia, only Bass and Monroe had been military. Jeremy, however, was the only one who doodled his reports. For a while Miles had wondered if the guy couldn’t write, but when he’d broken his hand in Lakefront that time he’d written them for a couple of months. Apparently writing left-handed was easier than sketching left-handed.

‘He gets his point across,’ Bass said. The humour faded from his face, leaving it vicious with anger. ‘Heaney’s been with the militia since he was 15, a volunteer not a conscript. He’s never given anyone reason to question his loyalty.’

‘Wheatley didn’t give the Rebels reason to question him either,’ Miles pointed out, remembering the complete incomprehension on the men’s faces as they dropped in the tunnel. ‘Spies don’t. Or maybe Heaney’s just a patsy?’

Any doubt of Heaney’s guilt faded when Jason and his friends dragged the older, heavier man back into camp with his hands tied behind his back and blood bubbling on his lips. A new cut decorated Jason’s face, nicking through his eyebrow and down onto his cheekbone. It would probably look dashing when he healed, Miles though sourly. His scars just looked like lumps of candlewax blobbed on him, and they ached in the cold. One of the other recruits had a rough bandage wrapped tight around her thigh.

‘He was on his way out of camp,’ Jason said, saluting. He wiped his dripping face on his sleeve. ‘When we told him you wanted to see him, he shot Barnes in the leg and ran.’

He scowled and gave Heaney a kick in the ribs for that.

‘That’s enough Neville,’ Bass said. ‘I decide who needs a beating and who doesn’t not you.’

The kid flushed dull red and ducked his head, fists clenched at his side. ‘Sorry, sir. My fault.’

Bass patted his shoulder. ‘Don’t be sorry,’ he said. ‘You did well, next time you’ll do better. Now get Barnes to the medic, we’ll deal with Heaney.’

Chin up again, face properly stoic but eyes shining, Jason saluted. ‘Yes, sir.’ 

He got under Barne’s arm, making the poor girl tiptoe and limp at the same time, and left. His friends saluted quickly and followed. The kid definitely had potential, Miles decided, and, even though he’d not mind if the kid got uglied up a bit, he was glad Monroe saw it too.

‘What to do with Heaney?’ he asked, looking down at the man. Heaney croaked a laugh and spat blood and spit onto Monroe’s boot.

Without changing expression Monroe kicked him in the face, knocking him onto his back, and wiped his foot on him. ‘Tie him to the back of the cart. We’ll get out of town and then have a chat.’ He smiled and indicated the surrounding houses with a twitch of his finger. ‘We don’t want to upset these folk,’

More than one of the men volunteered to come with them, teeth clenched and eyes bright with anger. A few of them might be faking the indignation for effect, but Miles thought most of them were genuinely furious to have been betrayed by one of their own. 

In the end it was just Miles, Bass and Grenville, who’d been stationed with Heaney for a year, out in the woods by a convenient stream. It turned out that torture was just like riding a bike, you never forgot how.

Grenville held the rag over Heaney’s face while Miles poured a bucket of water over his face, counting off to 14 in his head. The man choked and spasmed, kicking at the ground. Done Miles stepped back and Grenville yanked the rag away, shoving Heaney onto his side to cough and vomit out a sour mixture of water, bile and chunks of whatever he’d had for breakfast.

‘When did you join the rebels?’ Bass asked, peeling an apple with a small, nasty knife. He looked like a Bond villain, Miles thought grumpily, but he supposed Heaney wasn’t old enough to get the reference.

Heaney hiccupped in a breath and blinked blood-shot eyes. He visibly reached for his bravado, hauling it around him like a dripping cloak. A sneer twitched his mouth. ‘Don’t know what you’re talking about.’ 

‘Do it again,’ Bass ordered.

Grenville slapped the wet cloth back over Heany’s face, tugging it tight. Behind it Heaney’s mouth gaped, sucking at the cloth like a fish. He was already hyperventilating.

Another 14 seconds. It took Heaney longer to find his bravado this time. Miles took the cloth off Grenville and wrung it out, letting the water drip out of it in front of Grenville.

‘Know what we used to call this?’ he asked.

Heaney snorted and wheezed, still trying to catch his breath. ‘Torture?’ he said, sniffing.

‘That too,’ Miles said. ‘It’s a coercive interrogation technique.’

Bass sliced a crisp chunk of apple and ate it off his knife. ‘That means we can keep doing this all day, Sergeant Heaney. Holding your tongue won’t help you escape by dying.’

Fear darted across Heaney’s face. People always thought death was scary, until you took it off the table and they realised it was their last out. Still he took a deep breath, setting his jaw, and shook his head.

He was well-trained. It took two more sessions before he caved, spitting out the information in a voice raw from vomiting and screaming. The Georgia invasion had been a feint, the Rebels had sacrificed one of their best pieces (Heaney) to draw them out of the city so they could make a move on Bass’ biggest prize.

‘They know you got the power back on,’ Heaney said, licking cracked lips. ‘And that you’re keeping it for yourself. Once we have it, everything is going to change.’

Bass stood up. ‘The only thing that’s going to change,’ he said coldly. ‘Is you being alive.’

Miles didn’t give Heaney time to worry about it. He grabbed the other man’s head, fingers digging it, and snapped his neck with one sharp, smooth yank. They left his body in the woods for the scavengers and headed back to camp. Georgia wasn’t the problem, the Rebels were.

He just hoped Jeremy had the wit to keep Charlie away from the fight.


	3. Chapter 3

Charlie sat in the corner of the cloakroom, knees pulled up to her chest and knuckles pressed against her mouth. She felt squashed, like there was something squeezing her so tight the breath couldn’t in or the screams out. Even the ache in hand, scraped open against rusted metal, felt distant and numb.

They’d almost got away, even after the explosion. Danny had dragged her back onto the walkway by the scruff of her neck and the collar. They’d gotten within feet of their way out when the Rebel’s had caught them.

‘It’s gonna be OK, Charlie,’ Rachel said, smiling reassuringly. She probably didn’t know there was blood on her teeth. Her jaw clenched as she shifted, pressing her hand to seeping wound in her stomach. Danny hugged her closer, his arm around her shoulder. ‘Monroe needs me. I’m the only one who can….who can build his amplifier.’

Except Monroe wasn’t here. He was on the road to Georgia. Even if he was here? There was only so much determination and a bad temper could accomplishment. It might rout the rebels, but intestinal bacteria? Stomach wounds were bad. Maggie always got a sick look on her face when someone came running with news of a stomach injury.

They shouldn’t have run; they should have just surrendered. The result was the same anyhow. Charlie chewed her knuckle until it hurt. It had taken years, but she’d mourned her mom for dead when she never came back from getting food. Then she’d held Maggie’s hand and felt it go cold as she died.

Now this? How many times could she be expected to do this?

‘Charlie?’ Danny asked. ‘What are we going to do?’

She wanted to say ‘nothing’, she wanted to point out that none of her damn plans had worked since this started, she wanted to tell him to watch their mom die in quiet. Except he was looking at her expectantly, because she was like Uncle Miles, wasn’t she? She always had a plan, even if it was a bad one, and he always followed her.

‘I don’t know,’ she admitted, uncurling her legs. ‘Yet.’

The surety in her voice, fake though it was, made him grin. She scraped her hair back and looked around the room. They’d taken her gun, but there had to be something here to use as a weapon. She just had to find it.

Ten minutes later, dusty, coughing and her shoulder burning, she still hadn’t Whoever had used this room before the Blackout, they’d taken their stuff with them when they left. There was an old coat, the stitches unravelling from the shoulder, with two quarters and a paper-clip in the pocket, an old lunch box (that pinched Charlie’s heart with nostalgia) with a faded Dr Who on the cover and a very old yoghurt instead and broken umbrella.

‘I could hit them with this I suppose,’ she grumbled, waving the umbrella as she dropped down onto the floor. It flapped sadly in her hands. ‘This is pathetic.’

Rachel swallowed and shook her head. ‘They’ll have to come for us eventually,’ she said, pausing to catch her breath. ‘We’ll have more options then.’

Except Charlie didn’t think they had time for eventually. Rachel’s breathing was getting slower and the bloody bloom on her make-shift bandage squelched bigger every time she moved her arm. Danny had noticed it too.

Charlie rolled her head back and stared at the ceiling, trying to think. What would Miles do? The thought of the kiss earlier feathered through her brain, but that wasn’t useful. He probably wouldn’t have got Rachel shot to start with, Charlie thought bitterly.

That wasn’t really helpful either. She shook her head to try and clear it and a seam in the ceiling caught her eye.

‘Danny, give me a boost,’ she said.

He squinted dubiously but slid away from Rachel and hoisted her up onto his shoulders. Hooking her feet under his arms, Charlie poked at the seam with the handle of the umbrella. It was an old patch, plastered and painted over like Dad had done when they got the leak in the roof.

All she needed was a lever. Shaking the umbrella open Charlie bit at the stitching holding the metal rods in place.

‘What are you doing,’ Danny asked, looking up at her.

She spat out a tangle of thread and worked the rod loose. It wouldn’t take much abuse, but – she tested it on her finger – it was sharpish.

‘Just hold still,’ she told him. ‘And try not to breath in.’

She scraped at the seam, picking out chunks of paint and rubbery strips of filler. Once she’d opened it up she flattened her hand against it and pushed. It held for a second and then popped open, releasing a musty, dry stink. The hole was just about big enough for her to squeeze through, she realised with a splash of triumph.

It turned sour quickly though. Danny wouldn’t fit through, and Rachel could hardly be expected to shimmy around up here. Still, it was something. Maybe.

Charlie lifted one knee until she could brace her foot on Danny’s shoulder and gingerly stood up, squirming through the hole into the dusty dark space. It wasn’t entirely dark, she realised after blinking a few times. Light filtered in through cracks and letter box sized vents along the crawl-space.

She shifted gingerly, feeling her way forwards. Cobwebs glued themselves to her hair and the floor was cracked and fusty under her knees, fungal and rooting. Her hands missed the box in the middle of the floor but her knee caught it with a clank. She froze, biting in a yelp, as she waited for someone to yell they’d found something.

When they didn’t she let out a breath and shuffled back, knee aching dully, to explore the box with her fingertips. It had been locked once, but 15 years of dampness made the tiny padlock easy to snap free. Cracking it open Charlie poked around inside, gritting her teeth against a squeal when things went skittering over her fingers. It was full of wires and metal and glass.

Charlie had no idea what it was, but…it seemed like it had run on electricity. She crawled back to the hole and flopped down on her stomach, sticking her head through. ‘Danny? You still have the pendant?’

He pulled it over his head and held it up so she could grab it, twisting the leather tight around her fingers. Maybe Nora hadn’t told the rebels about the pendant? Maybe.

Taking a deep breath Charlie scrambled back into the crawlspace. She fiddled with the pendant for a second, poking it until it clicked and lit up. The blue light shone through her fingers, picking out shadows of her bones. Rachel and the others said it was science, but Charlie thought it was more like magic. How could you switch the laws of physics on and off (Aaron might have thought she never listened to his lectures, but she had) with a pretty but of jewellery?

Magic or engineering, she hoped this worked. Charlie held her breath and dropped it into the box. Nothing happened for a few seconds, then the wires sparked and something in there started to tick.

‘Great,’ Charlie muttered, voice cracking. She raked her hair back from her face, webs clotting under her nails. ‘I made it tick.’

Then something groaned, a long whining note, and water spat and dribbled through the cracks in the floor. Right, Charlie scooted backwards, that was better than nothing. She swung down through the hole and landed on the floor. Danny was standing on his tiptoes at the door, peering through the diamon-patterned glass.

‘What’s going on? Charlie asked, wiping her hands on her jeans with a grimace. She ran over to his side and hopped onto her toes, trying to peer over his shoulder.

The grinding scream was rattling on and getting louder and she could hear people yelling. Dull red liquid dripped out of the ceilings and splattered in huge, ruddy puddles on the floor.

‘If that’s blood,’ Charlie said, feeling a little unsettled herself. ‘I’m going to apologise to Mrs Dobochek over saying the Blackout wasn’t a punishment from God.’

Rachel gave a scratchy little laugh. ‘She thought gophers were a punishment from God,’ she said. ‘Old water, rusty sprinklers – you hit the fire alarm, sweet-heart.’

‘Yeah,’ Charlie said. ‘That makes sense. Doesn’t get us out of here though?’

‘They’ll want to know what’s happening,’ Rachel said, reaching up and grabbing a hook to pull herself upright. She was sweating by the time she was standing. ‘We just need to be ready.’

Sure enough it wasn’t long before one of the rebels was scratching at the door with the key. He shouldered it open, holding it with his boot, while two other men stood twitchily behind him.

He jabbed a gun into Charlie face, banging the muzzle against her forehead. ‘What did you do? How’d you turn it back on?’ he demanded furiously. She didn’t answer, just stared at him wide-eyed, and he lost his temper, whipping the gun back to hit her with it.

Now. She grabbed his jacket and yanked him into the room as hard as she could, Danny slamming the door behind him and putting his shoulders to it. He gritted his teeth and held it as the rebels hammered from outside.

All Charlie had to do was get the gun. She grabbed his arm to stop him shooting her, straining against him, and stamped hard on his foot, then tried to knee him in the groin. He blocked and swung her around to slam her bodily into wall. ‘Bitch.’

She kicked the side of his knee, making him stumble, and cracked her head into his face. His nose pop-cracked against her forehead, spurting blood, but it still didn’t put him down. He grabbed her throat and squeezed, cutting off her air to a wheezing thread and making her skull throb.

‘Clayton said not to kill you,’ he said. ‘But she’s not as important as she thinks-‘

He stuttered to a halt, mouth trembling around silence, and blood washed down his chest. He let go off Charlie and clapped his hand to his throat, blood spurting between his fingers, and he staggered back. Rachel leant against the wall, grey to the lips, with a bloody bit of umbrella rod clutched in her fingers.

‘Don’t you ever touch my daughter,’ she spat through bloody teeth.

Charlie coughed and gave her a sudden, brilliant smile. ‘I thought Uncle Miles was the family badass.’

Rachel laughed and sat down hard, leaning back against the wall. No time to check on her. Charlie dropped to her knees and yanked the gun out of the Rebel’s hand as he bled to death. She raised it and nodded to Charlie. He flung himself forwards and the swung unexpectedly open, leaving them scrambling for balance.

She picked off the first before he even realised what was happening, her finger tightening and a bullet hitting in the forehead. ‘Sitting ducks, aren’t your role models,’ Tyler growled in her memory. She threw herself to the side, shoulders hitting the wall, and a bullet thumped into her upper arm.

It didn’t hurt. No more than getting a dead-arm from Danny. She tagged the Rebel in the chest twice and he dropped. Tyler would grumble about gangsters and wasting bullets, but Charlie didn’t want to take any risks.

‘Am I adopted?’ Danny asked faux-plaintively. ‘Or am I just the only non-badass Matheson.’

Charlie laughed, breathy and a little shocky sounding, and hurried over to help him up. ‘You were awesome,’ she said, hugging him. ‘Come on, we’re going to get out of here yet.’

He grabbed a gun and they hung Rachel over their shoulders, mostly dragging her. Moving as quick as they could they hurried through the corridors, dodging from crate to huge, frozen chunk of machinery. The groaning alarm creaked on and on, but the water from the ceiling had slowed to a drip. Like the blood dripping from Charlie’s fingers.

They reached their escape route, but someone was there before them. Strausser, blood a gory mask over his face, was manhandling Nora into the tunnel, a knife held across her throat and his fingers digging into her bandaged shoulder.

‘Charlie,’ Nora said. ‘Get out of here.’

‘I thought you were going to kill me next time you saw me,’ Charlie said.

Nora laughed roughly. ‘Not exactly in a position.’

Strausser shook her viciously. ‘Shut up. Monroe will promote me again for catching you, bitchy,’ he looked up and gave Charlie a sliding, sly smile. ‘And once I tell him that you were trying to escape, maybe he’ll give me a go at your sweet-‘

Danny shot him, bursting his eye and shattered the left side of his skull. Strausser tottered for a horrible second, then dropped like his strings were cut.

‘Rebels,’ Danny said, gun clutched in stiff, trembling fingers. ‘They killed the Sergeant.’

Charlie nodded, meeting Nora’s eyes. ‘Then they ran, Nora, got away down the tunnel.’

‘Come with me,’ Nora said. ‘Strausser said you were trying to get away, now’s your chance.’

She held out her hand. It surprised Charlie how much she wanted to take that hand. Nora was everything Charlie used to want to be, when she was day dreaming over her postcards about how she'd be fierce and independent and have nobody telling her what to do. A big part of Charlie still wanted that, but...

'Your friends shot my mom,' she said, hugging Rachel tighter. 'They didn't have to, we were running not fighting and she isn't militia. But they shot her. I'm not coming with you.'

Nora closed her eyes, pain flinching over her face, and then she straightened up. 'Tell Miles not to bother finding me again,' she said. 'I hope we won't cross paths again, Charlie.'

'Me too.'

Nora gave Strausser a vicious kick to the stomach and stepped over him, pointing towards the back of the building with her chin. 'I heard Baker had men on the other end of that, we're heading out this way. Wait for the bang.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no idea where my smut has gone - but it should be back soon. Hopefully.


	4. Chapter 4

Bass had the horses cut out of their traces - leaving orders to commandeer replacements from the village (‘With full recompense,’ Miles had added, getting an irritated wave of acknowledgement) – and got every solider that could ride mounted. They headed back down the road at a gallop, the infantry and carts following behind.

By the time they reached the factory the horses were exhausted, except for Bass’ black who was still twitchy with energy despite the scum of sweat on his hips, and Miles was bitterly grateful to get to dismount. He felt like he’d done some permanent damage to his pelvis.

One of the recruits, still in grey, for god’s sake, took the reins off him and saluted, nearly whipping himself in the face. He looked vaguely familiar. ‘Commander Baker is waiting for you and General Monroe at the blockade,’ he said, shooting a nervous glance at the founding father of the Republic. ‘Sir, is it true that Char – that Recruit Matheson’s mother was working here?’

The question gave the niggle of familiarity context, one of the kids that hung around on Charlie’s coat-tails when she wasn’t with him or Bass. He’d not really thought much about them before – currying favour was old before the Blackout – but the boy looked genuinely concerned.

‘That’s not your concern,’ he said, relatively kindly. ‘Just make sure the horses are … dealt with and get on with your duties.’

He turned away, nodding to Bass as his blackly scowling friend stripped off his gloves. ‘We need to crush this,’ Bass said flatly. ‘After today I want any rebel who even thinks of taking us on, to know exactly why its-‘

‘Sir, I mean, Sirs…’ a cracking voice interrupted. Shit, Miles thought. He turned and scowled at the still lingering kid, shifting his shoulder in front of Bass. 

‘I thought I told you to get on with your duties?’ he snapped.

The kid took a nervous breath and glanced hopefully at Bass – like Miles hadn’t been trying to protect him. 

‘It’s just…I haven’t seen Recruit Matheson all day. I was meant to meet her this morning,’ that nervous flicker of his eyes again, and he stammered his explanation. ‘Charlie’s been helping me with my reading an’ stuff, that’s all.’

Miles looked down at the kid – skinny, spotty and about three years younger than Charlie – and supposed that he could control his jealousy. His worry was another matter.

‘And she wasn’t there today?’ Bass asked.

The kid shook his head, chewing on his cheek. Bass slapped him on the shoulder, ‘Good man. You knew what was important, and you were brave enough to stand up to General Matheson and tell us. Now, go back to your duties.’

With a jerky nod the kid turned and hurried away, jerking the horse behind him. Miles took a deep breath. ‘Charlie didn’t do this,’ he said, giving Bass a firm look. ‘She’s not working with the rebels.’

Bass snorted. ‘No,’ he said. ‘She was bolting.’

Miles went to argue, then he remembered how soft she’d been in his arms, the pliancy of her body against his. You’d think he’d been kissed goodbye enough times to recognise it. His chest ached heavily with loss.

‘What are you going to do?’ he asked.

‘Crush the rebels,’ Bass said, threading his gloves through his belt. His mouth tilted in an oddly amused smile ‘Get her back in one piece. Don’t look so worried, Miles. She had to run sometime, to prove she could.’

‘If they know who she is…’ 

‘They’d have shown their hand already,’ he said. ‘And Jeremy would have sent word so we could get over killing things before we reached him.’

And speak of the devil. Jeremy came loping towards him, his mobile face folded into angry lines. His uniform was muddy and he had a stripe of wet, blistered skin down the side of his face.

He jabbed his finger at it as he got closer. ‘Boiling fucking oil,’ he said. ‘Can you believe these assholes. Probably a damn history teacher, getting ideas. Should round them all up.’

‘What’s the situation?’ Bass asked.

Jeremy scratched around his blisters. ‘Apparently you have a magic switch that turns the electricity back on,’ he said. ‘Until you flick it, or they find it, they aren’t coming out. Basically.’

He handed Miles the binoculars – having second thoughts about who should get them a second too later – and hunched over to lead them back up to the cover of the carts. Miles leant against the cart and peered through the grubby lens, tweaking the focus till the building was sharp.

Smoke eddied from the smouldering holes kicked in the walls and Miles clocked three – no four – snipers in the windows. The scrape-scrape and muttered ow of Jeremy picking at his face reminded him to look up, finding six plumes of oily smoke along the roof.

‘How’d they get in,’ Bass asked. 

‘Closest I can tell,’ Jeremy said, leaning on the wheel. One of the snipers fired, a bullet whizzing through the air and kicking a clot of grass up a foot away. Jeremy didn’t twitch, they’d obviously worked out range already. ‘They turned up claiming to be reinforcements, then they blow a big fuck-off hole in the wall so the rest of them could get in. We could overwhelm them, but with Rachel in there…I figured I’d let you make that call. Above my paygrade.’

‘That’s because you keep refusing promotion.’

Jeremy shrugged. ‘Keeps my life simple.’

Finished, Miles offered the binoculars to Bass who refused impatiently.

‘There’s a back way in,’ Jeremy volunteered.

‘What?’ Bass snapped.

‘I checked the plans,’ Jeremy shrugged. ‘Kip had the old blueprints from when you adapted it.’

Blue eyes narrowed suspiciously, but Bass accepted the explanation. Or at least didn’t argue with it.

‘There’s a vent back there,’ Jeremy pointed. ‘Kip said it was flooded, so he didn’t worry about it. But everywhere was flooded that year, remember? Now it’s dried out.’

Bass nodded and snapped his fingers. ‘Miles, get a team together. Jeremy, stay here and look busy.’

Irritation jagged Miles at being told what to do. He used to call the shots, Bass had never cared about being in charge. He’d get used to it. Jeremy already had, a smirk slid over his face and he cracked his fingers. ‘Now that I can do. I mean, you’ve see me on a Friday afternoon.’

He stuck his fingers in his mouth and wolf-whistled, snapping a series of contradictory orders that had the militia running around looking very busy and accomplishing nothing at all. Miles grabbed the faces he recognised, including a grim-faced Jason, and used the confusion as a cover as he followed Bass into the woods.

The vent was buried under a mass of fallen branches and overgrown vegetation. Ripping it off, Miles felt the familiar scratch of excitement and tension in his chest as he snapped orders and deployed his men. He traded a quick look with Bass, finding the old grin already on his friends face, and jogged into the dark.

Halfway down he stopped, snapping his fingers to hold up the rest, and cocked his head. Footsteps echoed back towards him and stopped. A gun clicked.

‘Who’s there?’ a shaky, familiar voice demanded.

Relief burbled up through Miles, hitting so hard he was almost dizzy.

‘Charlie,’ Miles said. ‘You ok?’

Silence and it occurred to Miles, if she’d been running away, she might not be happy to see them. Then he heard her make a choked, hiccupping noise of relief.

‘Miles,’ she said. ‘Yeah, yeah, I’m ok.’

She stumbled into view, bright hair standing out against the shadows. Her and Danny were carrying Rachel between them. His sister-in-law was dangling, her hair trailing over her face, and blood soaked her front. 

‘Shit,’ Bass muttered. 

Miles slung his rifle over his back and ran forwards to grab Rachel, pressing his fingers under her jaw. The pulse fluttered against his fingers. He swung her up into his arms, her head resting on his shoulder.

‘I got her, Charlie,’ he said, stepping back.

She nodded, the pale oval of her face twisting. Before he could say anything – before he could think of anything he planned to say – Bass stepped in. He cupped his hand around the back of her neck, tangling his fingers in her hair. 

‘You did good,’ he told her. ‘Miles was right, you’re a good soldier.’

She sniffed. ‘I got my mom shot.’

He pulled her in to rest his forehead against her. ‘You got your mom out,’ he told her. She hitched in a breath and leant against him, shivering slightly. Miles couldn’t move for a second. It was the old Bass standing there – the one he’d gotten drunk with when his mom died, the one who’d dragged him out of his funk after his first love married someone else. Someone close to him anyhow. Miles’d missed that Bass.

And he wanted to break his knuckles on his face for being the one Charlie was clinging to. He clenched his teeth, now wasn’t the time, and lifted Rachel more securely in his arms.

‘We get Rachel to safety, then we go back,’ he said.

‘No,’ Charlie said. ‘They-‘

She faltered and Danny spoke up, his voice rougher than usual. ‘The rebels are evacuating,’ he said. ‘They killed Strausser on the way out.’

Miles glanced at Bass, he was rubbing Charlie’s arm. ‘What now?’

‘We got the only things that matter out,’ Bass said. ‘Jeremy can amuse himself catching them on the way out.’


	5. Chapter 5

It hadn’t hurt at the time, but after a week Charlie’s arm was more than making up for it. It stung and ached and burned all at the same time, and the stitches itched. She had a bottle of pills from the militia infirmary, but she tried not to use them. The pain felt like punishment for failing.

She stood in the rain with her brother as they lowered her mother’s coffin into the dark soil of the Monroe Memorial cemetery. Charlie had agonized over whether this was what Rachel would have wanted. Philadelphia hadn’t been a happy place for her; maybe she would have wanted to be with Dad? 

There were obvious logistical issues with that, though, and Miles had convinced her that Rachel would have wanted to be near her and Danny. It was stupid, really, Charlie didn’t know if she really believed in anything after. Sometimes she thought about seeing Dad in that tunnel, but that hadn’t been real.

Danny put his arm around her shoulder, careful of her bandages, and rested his temple against hers. They were alone, for the first time since they fled the city. Under the circumstances, Charlie had explained awkwardly, they’d rather Miles and Monroe not be there.

They weren’t far though, just outside the gates.

‘We’re never going to the Wastelands, are we?’ Danny murmured in her ear.

She leant against him, absorbing some of his warmth, and thought about it. ‘Miles said he’d help us, if we really wanted to go,’ she admitted.

Danny’s sigh ruffled her hair. ‘Do you really want to?’

She dodged the question, because…because. ‘What would you do, if we did.’

‘Not we.’

She went cold, right down to her bones. ‘Danny, don’t. I know I should-‘

‘Charlie, I love you. You’re my sister, whatever you do,’ he interrupted, loud enough to get a glare from the minister. Their mom had been Baptist. It had been Miles who’d known that; Monroe who’d told them her favourite hymn. They hadn’t known her very well. ‘But I’m not a little kid. I love you, I don’t need you.’

That went against everything her Dad had told them. She had to take care of Danny, that was her job. Every morning he’d tell her to keep an eye on him, every night tell her she’d done a good job. Maggie hadn’t though, she remembered suddenly, she’d always laughed and called him a big lunk.

‘What would you do?’ Charlie asked, not that she was making any promises not to follow him. ‘You hate Monroe.’

‘No,’ Danny disagreed, sounding a little surprised. ‘I don’t like him, he took advantage of you to get what he wanted, but he didn’t kill Dad. I killed the man that did.’

Charlie breathed in, tasting damp air and wet mud. ‘I want to stay,’ she admitted. ‘The rebels aren’t any better than the militia. They talk a good game, but they’re just as willing to kill civilians or kids in their greys. Maybe it’s’ sick, but Bass loves Miles and Miles…loves me and I want to make things better.’

After all, neither of the founding Generals had an heir and she was good at fighting. Even Miles had to admit that. Maybe General Matheson Mk 2 would do a better job? Or maybe that’s where the rot started, thinking you’d do it different.

She had time to work it out.

Danny mutely shoved his sleeve back to show her his wrist. The brand looked raw and angry against his pale skin. He quirked a humourless smile when she glared at him.

‘Maybe I’m not as bad-ass as you or-‘ his voice broke and he glanced at the coffin, ‘or mom, but I need to learn to fight. This seems the best way. Once I do, then I’ll make up my mind.’

Charlie didn’t know what she felt about that. Angry at him for making her thing he was leaving? Scared he was going to be fighting – his asthma!? Or just glad he was going to be around. But he was brother, so that always left one option.

‘I thought you wanted me to stop bossing you around, recruit,’ she said.

He had to bury his laugh in her hair, snorting like a horse against her ear. Then, all of a sudden, she realized he was crying. So they stood in the rain, dripping and ignoring the priest’s impatient glare until he stopped. He straightened up and sniffed, wiping his nose on his sleeve. Charlie bit her lips to stop from correcting him.

‘Someday,’ he said. ‘You’ll take me to where Maggie’s buried?’

She took his hand, like they had when they were kids. ‘Of course.’

*********

Monroe dropped himself a glass of whiskey and carried it with him to the window, holding the pendant up to the fading sunlight. It spun slowly on its cord. Charlie had offered to go get it back for him, but he’d sent someone else.

‘All that,’ he said. ‘to get something that can turn up a light-bulb or boil a kettle.’

Charlie sat one end of the couch, Miles on the other, and rubbed her hand. She’d been shot in the upper arm (it hadn’t even hit bone), but it was her hand that hurt today. 

‘You said there were 12 of them,’ she said. ‘That means there’s 10 of them still out there. Most of them are probably still in the Republic, surely one of them would be willing to help? Especially if it wasn’t just so we could kill more people.’ 

That made Miles flinch. Bass flipped the pendant up into his hand, closing his fingers about it, and turned to scowl at her. 

‘We?’ he said. ‘Since when do I listen to you about military strategy, Charlie?’

‘You don’t,’ Charlie said. ‘Not yet, but if you want me to stay then you start listening to me about some stuff.’

He sneered. ‘You’re staying because you’re a hostage, Charlie. You don’t get to make demands.’

Her heart was thundering against her chest, echoing up into her ears. She stood up, ignoring Miles attempt to grab her hand.

‘So you think I won’t call your bluff?’ he asked, stalking across the room towards her. ‘That I’ll just let you pass ultimatums?’

Miles started to his feet, but Charlie waved him back down. This would work. She knew it would. So she set her jaw and met Monroe’s eyes and looked for the man who’d held her hand when they stitched her arm and told her she’d been brave. She could deal with that man, if he was still there in any way that mattered. 

And if she couldn’t see him right now, she’d pretend.

‘It’s a negotiation,’ she said. ‘Either I’m part of this,’ she flipped her fingers at them. ‘Or I’m not. And I’m ok with not, you can let me go or send me to bunk with the rest of the recruits.’

He brushed his thumb along her cheekbone, standing too close for comfort. ‘And if I decide to take what I want?

‘Then the next time you touch me, you better bring a knife,’ she said. He stared at her, eyes blue and very dangerous as he considered that. She lifted her chin and stared back. ‘I’m not stupid, Monroe. With Mom g…gone you don’t need me anymore, and if you have to start hurting me that’s going to be counter-productive in keeping Miles on-side.’

‘A little,’ Miles said, almost neutral.

Some of the knife-edge leeches out of his eyes and he shrugs, stepping away from and dropping down onto the couch. He sprawls, deliberately shoving black boots into her space.

‘Fine, a negotiation,’ he said. ‘Why should I give you a say? What do you have to offer other than…well, you know?’

‘I know what people think of you,’ she said.

‘So do I.’

‘Naw,’ Charlie said, shaking her head. ‘You don’t know what people complain about because they complain and what really rankles. You don’t know what people value about the militia and what they hate. Not really. Maybe someone has told you or written it down, but I’ve seen it. I’ve felt it.’

‘She’s smart,’ Miles said abruptly. ‘And she still cares, it’s catching.’

‘What is she, a Care Bear?’ Monroe asked. ‘I don’t care what people think of me, without the Militia they’d be prey for the wolves and they know it.’

Fine. She walked over and leant down, putting her hands on his shoulders. Her arm throbbed as it took her weight and her stomach twisted unhappily. She’d never approached him, never kissed him first…till now. Her lips pressed against his, moving over the stubbornly unyielding line of his mouth. 

‘Who else you got. Monroe?’ she asked, leaning back.

He reached up and pinched her chin, tilting her head so he could smirk at her sardonically. ‘So you’re saying you love me, Charlie?’

‘No,’ she admitted. She still can’t bring herself to call him Sebastian, for God’s sake, but, ‘I’m here and I want to stay, so I don’t know. What do you want.’

Danny had done it on her. She thought turn about was fair play. Although ew at thinking about her brother right now.

His mouth twisted and she thought…she thought she pushed the wrong place, but then he dragged her down into a kiss. Her arm buckled with a hot spurt of pain and then she was sprawled half-in and half-out of his lap, her legs straddling the muscled length of his thigh.

Monroe’s hand grabbed her ass and tugged her closer, rocking her hips against his groin to feel his thickening cock. She reached down between their bodies and wrapped her hand around him, squeezing through the fabric and he hissed the breath from between her lips. 

It felt almost desperate the kiss, all hunger and need sucking at her. She twisted her fingers in his curls and kissed him back, because she was desperate too. Everything had gone to shit, and this was sick and wrong, but if could make it work, if she could make things better somehow? That’s make it worth something. It wasn’t enough to make up for everything, but at least it wouldn’t have all been for nothing.

Right?

Miles shifted on the couch and then she felt him against her back, his erection pressed against her ass and Monroe’s hand. The weight of him squashed her against Monroe, sending confused licks of heat through her. She wasn’t stupid, Maggie’s lessons had been inclusive of a variety of orientations, so she could guess how that might…work. Logistically. She just wasn’t sure about it being with her.

He kissed her neck, suckling at the pulse under the thin skin. ‘And me? What do I get, Charlie? To watch?’

She hesitated, all the brave plans she’d had cramping up inside her chest, and her lips going still on Monroe’s. He chuckled, low in his throat, and did something with his hand that made Miles grunt and push against her, grinding her against Monroe.

‘He doesn’t get to touch, but that isn’t to say you can’t Charlie,’ he said, doing it again. Miles was panting in her ear, his hands curled around her flat stomach. Charlie’s body was tight with nervy excitement, the heavy thrust of their bodies somewhere between terrifying and…differently terrifying. ‘You could be charge. Would you like that?’

‘I…’ Miles thrust again, and she could feel them both hard against her. ‘I guess.’


	6. Chapter 6

The steel cuff snapped shut around Miles’ heavy wrist, tethering him to the headboard. Even though he’d agreed, tension clenched his muscles. Most of the times he’d been tied up, hadn’t gone anywhere nice.

‘What’s the matter, Miles?’ Bass asked, bracing his arm on the other side of his chest. ‘Don’t you trust me?’

‘This is about that tattoo isn’t it?’ Miles said sourly. 

He looked amused. ‘Maybe.’

Miles tensed his shoulders, rattling the cuffs against the wooden slats. His body was hot with a mixture of bad temper, frustration and raw-nerve hunger. It had been difficult travelling with Charlie, playing the unperverted uncle who didn’t get hard every time she gave that mad, glowing smile. The last few months, close enough to feel the warmth of her skin, see the vulnerable swoop of skin over her hips, had left him abraded. It didn’t matter how many times he jacked off, there was still a low, heavy want in his groin.

‘This is going to be the death of me,’ he muttered. ‘I’ve not been this frustrated since I was 14.’

‘I knew you when you were 14,’ Bass said, standing up. ‘You weren’t that frustrated. I won’t be long.’

He sauntered out of the room, leaving Miles sprawled out on the bed like a sacrifice on an altar. The metal was cold against his skin as he shifted, tilting his head back to squint at the headboard and work out how he could get free. 

Stupid question. He could get out of the cuffs easily enough, but the only he’d get free of Bass and Charlie would be to chew off his own heart.

The door opened and Bass escorted Charlie in. The minute she saw Miles on the bed her mouth quirked into a crooked smile that she didn’t quite manage to hide behind her hand in time. He glared at her.

‘If you laugh –‘ he warned her.

She didn’t – quite – and the smile faded as her gaze skimmed down over his body from shoulders to the heavy jut of his cock. Her tongue flicked over her lower lip, a thoughtless, damp slick that made Miles groan. When Bass stepped forwards, curving his arm around her stomach, she jumped.

‘I don’t know…’ she curled her hand around his arm, digging her nails in. ‘I don’t know what…’

Bass walked her over to the bed, lips moving against her throat. Charlie relaxed against him, she might not trust him but she was used to him now. She loved Miles already, she’d get used to him.  
‘Whatever you want,’ Bass told her, weaving his fingers through hers. He lowered her hand to Miles thigh, trailing it over his skin. Muscles clenched under the tanned skin. ‘However you want. Think of him as my present to you.’

Miles sucked in a ragged breath. ‘Next thing you’ll be putting a bow on me.’

Letting go of Charlie’s fingers, Bass went to work on unbuttoning her shirt. He tugged it open and cupped her breasts, scraping his thumbs over her tight nipples.

On her own this time, Charlie touched his thigh with cool, callused fingers, trailing them through the fuzz of hair to the crease of his hip. She braced her arm and crawled onto the bed, straddling his legs. Bass made a disgruntled noise as her breast slipped from his hand.

With almost delicate curiosity, Charlie ran her fingers over the hard muscles on his stomach. She found the callus of scar tissue just to the side of his belly button, a clumsy seam where Bass had stitched him together. Her thumb bumped it, tracing the lines, then she ducked her head to press a wet, open-mouthed kiss to the old wound.

‘Charlie,’ he groaned. 

She ignored him, kissing her way from scar to scar. Her mouth was hot on skin that felt cold once she moved away. She even found the faded dimple under his chin where he’d cracked it kerb while scuffling with Bass as kids.

‘You’re weird, Charlie,’ he said hoarsely, as she propped her arm next to his head. Her hair trailed over his chest, the slide of it against his skin like another caress.

‘I thought that was a good thing?’

‘It is,’ he said, staring and trying to make her see…everything. That he loved her. He’d loved her since she came back for him, when most of the Republic would tickets to his funeral. That he was sorry, and that he wasn’t.

This wasn’t the world he’d wanted for her, but it was the only one he could see them together. He didn’t know if she understood, he didn’t know if he did. She leant down and kissed him, her tongue tracing the seam of his lips and then dipping inside. 

Miles drank down the sweetness of her, craning his neck to deepen the kiss. He clenched his fists and pulled against the restraints, muscles cording in his shoulders.

From the bottom of the bed Bass cleared his throat roughly. ‘Come here, Charlie.’  
She pressed one last kiss to the corner of his mouth, ignoring his groaned plea for her to stay, and crawled back down to Bass. He was naked and holding himself, long fingers flexing around the bulge of his erection. 

Miles swore at him as his best friend tugged Charlie against him, stealing her mouth back. Then he nuzzled her ear and glanced wickedly at Miles. ‘Don’t you wonder,’ he mused, brushing his knuckles over the underside of her breast, ‘what he tastes like?’

She stiffened, a flush sweeping up her skin from her shoulders. 

Bass slid his hand down her stomach and into her trousers, slipping between her legs. His arm flexed, tendons working in his forearms, and Charlie gasped, grabbing his arms for balance.

‘I bet he wonders about you,’ he said. Letting go of Charlie he walked to the top of the bed. His eyes were bright with lust and control, getting off playing the puppet master. Miles supposed he couldn’t judge him really, under the circumstances. ‘Don’t you?’

Bass pressed sticky-wet fingers to Miles’ lips, pushing them into his mouth. He deserved to get them bitten off, but the taste – the thought of it – reached down his throat and yanked at his balls. Miles sucked those deft, thrusting fingers helplessly, mentally swearing to kick Bass’ ass next time they sparred.

A narrow hand wrapped around his cock at the base. He couldn’t see, Bass smirking down at him, but he’d seen her grab a sword, he knew the scar on her knuckles and the way the last joint on her little finger didn’t bend all the way.

The slow, tight slide along his shaft made him thrust his hips up off the bed, his tongue pushing Bass’s fingers as he groaned. Fuck, he couldn’t take it. He clenched his fists, nails digging into palm, as she touched him. 

‘That’s enough,’ Bass said abruptly, voice tight. He caught Charlie’s hands and tugged her to the side of the bed, her legs dangling either side of his thighs. 

‘Fuck you, Bass,’ Miles snarled, balls radiating an ache like he’d been kicked.

Bass just ignored him, stripping Charlie’s trousers down over her hips. She kicked them onto the floor and Bass picked her up and sprawled her over Miles’ body. Her bare ass was pressed against his cock, his shaft tight between her thighs, and her head on his shoulder. 

Every thought in his head melted into swearing and the throbbing ache to be inside her. He turned his face into her hair, scraping his teeth along the flutter of her pulse. 

Bass gripped her hips and shifted her up, her thighs parting slightly. The son-of-a-bitch, Miles thought as he struggled to hang onto some control. He felt the thrust as Bass buried himself in Charlie, the weight of him squashing her between them, and her startled noise. Every thrust shoved her down into him and rubbed Bass’ cock or thigh against his. Bass fucked Charlie on top of him, sweat and fluids soaking their bodies, hot and wet and sticky, and Miles was so hard from it he’d swear it hurt worse than being stabbed. 

A rough mouth slanted over his, lips harder than Charlie’s and with the scrape of a close shaved beard.

Charlie gasped and swore – and she’d learnt that from him, he thought with a note of perverse (what else was there right now?) pride – and reached up to grab his hand. Bass’ hand went lower, wrapping rough, competent fingers around Miles’ throbbing cock. It didn’t much to get him off, two rough strokes and the swipe of a callused thumb over his crown. 

He bucked off the bed she hard he nearly dislodged Charlie. Bass steadied her, hands digging into her hips hard enough to bruise, and his hips drove into her until he came. 

Charlie was still on the edge, body bow-string tight and lips tight to hold in the little sounds he could hear in her throat. Bass brought her over the edge with his fingers, keeping them buried inside her as she squirmed and panted through her orgasm.

They lay there, catching their breaths and Miles planning ways to get Bass, until Charlie finally sighed and shoved at Bass’ shoulders. ‘I can’t breathe.’ He grumbled but rearranged them, unlocking Miles’ cuffs as well, on the bed. 

‘So,’ he said, drawing patterns on Charlie’s belly with his fingers. ‘What was your idea to get the rest of the pendants?’


	7. Epilogue

Five years later:

The sun shone over the smoking rubble of the Fox Bay Correctional Institute, giving the scene an oddly idyllic cast. The rebel prisoners were lined up outside broken walls, watching their flags burn with grim faces.

Charlie didn’t see the harm in the flags to be honest, but neither Monroe nor Miles would back down on it. She swung down off her horse, gritting her teeth as her ankle twinged. She’d broken it last year, fighting traffickers up at their northern border, and it never quite healed right.

She fussed over her horse, straightening his bridle, until she could walk without limping. Appearances were important. Particularly here. She pushed her braid back over her shoulder, feeling the heavy weight of it settle against her back, and strode over to the prisoners.

Jason poked the edge of the flag into the fire, stirring it to make it spark, and raised his eyebrows at her. She saluted, even with nepotism he was a few ranks ahead of her still, and nodded to the prisoners.

‘Is this everyone?’

‘The head of the snake,’ Jason said, tossing the stick into the fire. He rubbed the scar over his eye absently as he pointed down the line. ‘General Stout and his privy council: Larimie, Delaney, Riveria and Zuniga. Some rank and file. Unfortunately, Eliot and Blake wriggled out of the net.’

Damn, Charlie twisted her mouth. Still, it was a good end to the campaign. She tugged her jacket straight and nodded to Jason.

‘General Matheson and Monroe are on their way,’ she said. ‘They’re just mopping up down in the town. Now, if you excuse me. I have to give my pitch.’

He rolled his eyes, not one of the fans of her new plan, and waved her past. Charlie took a deep breath and straightened her jacket, giving the cuffs a tug to make sure they were the same length. 

‘The generals whore,’ one of the men sneered as she came without earshot. Short black hair and a burn scar on his chin twisting his mouth out of true: Zuniga. He blew things up, but he wasn’t as good as Nora. 

‘I prefer Commander Matheson,’ she said, putting her hands on her hips and keeping her back straight. ‘But as long as we all known who I am.’

The sharp-boned, grey haired Stout glowered her people to silence. Her eyes, one green and one milky white, studied Charlie with cool judgment. ‘Come to offer us amnesty, if we join you, Commander?’

‘Not you,’ she said. ‘That’s not on the table for you. Not after Boston. You killed 109 civilians and 20 militia.

Stout’s mouth tightened, she didn’t care about the militia but the civilian deaths had to weigh on her. It had been a bad misjudgment on the rebels part, it had lost them a lot of sympathy from the people. Nothing took the romance out of rebellion like a dead kid.

‘So what do you want?’ Stout asked.

‘I have an offer for the rank and file,’ Charlie said. ‘The ones we’ve captured here and your sleeper agents around the country. I want you to make sure it gets to them.’

Zuniga sneered. ‘Why we should do anything you want?’ he asked.

‘Shut up,’ Laramie told him. He was a Militia deserter. Their information had him regretting his defection after Boston. Too late for that, though. ‘What’s Monroe offering?’

‘The Wastelands,’ Charlie said, naming the lawless sprawl of land between them and California. ‘You want your own country? Go make one.’

‘This is our country,’ Stout said, stepping forwards. One of the guards stepped forwards, pushing her back into her place. ‘You’re the ones who took it off us, who set yourselves up as tin-pot dictators.’

Charlie shrugged. ‘Tough,’ she said. ‘No one has faith you can make this work. The US fell when the lights went out and it didn’t get back up. So you want people to take you seriously? Stop killing them and show that your way works.’

‘Or?’ Laramie asked.

‘Or die here,’ Charlie said coldly. She’d been in Boston. ‘The same message is being given in Georgia, Texas and the Plains Nation. No more games. This is your chance, Stout. You’re going to die, but your cause could live on. You have until tomorrow to decide.’

She turned and walked away, leaving them to decide. While they did that, she needed to get Monroe’s tent set up and message Georgia and the Plains that the plan was underway. And order the recruits to heat up some warm water. She needed a bath.

Charlie was mid-soak, hair floating on the sudsy water, when she heard the explosion. She scrambled up, slopping water over the floor, and yanked her trousers and a t-shirt on over wet skin. As she wrestled her boots on Jason stuck his head in, worry turning his face grim.

‘It was on the road to town, Charlie,’ he said.   
‘Secure the prisoners,’ she said, cinching her sword belt around her belt. ‘I’ll lead the rescue team.’

‘Charlie,’ Jason said, putting his arm out. ‘I think you should stay here. If something has happened…’

‘It’s my family,’ she said. ‘If Julia was down there, would you stay here?’

‘If my superior officer ordered me to.’

‘Guess you’re a better soldier than me then,’ Charlie snapped, ducking under his arm. She yelled orders on her way through the camp, ignoring Jason fuming behind her. Then she left them to saddle the horses while she headed for the pen where they kept the prisoners.

Stout was standing at the gate, a cold smile playing over her mouth. ‘The Monroe Republic will fall down, Matheson, and it won’t get back up.’

Charlie punched her through the bars, nose popping against her knuckles. While she was staggering Charlie yanked the door open and stalked in, grabbing Laramie by the collar and dragging him out. 

Blood oozed between Stout’s fingers as she got her feet back under her. Her eyes were wild. ‘Don’t tell them anything, Laramie,’ she yelled, voice clotty and nasal. ‘Remember what they did, remember what they are.’

‘Yeah,’ Charlie told him, kicking his feet from under him. He dropped to his knees and she pressed the muzzle of her gun against his temple. ‘Remember exactly what we are. What did you do?’

Laramie swallowed and licked his lips. ‘If I tell you-‘

‘No pardon,’ Charlie said. ‘We don’t take traitors back.’

‘Monroe took Matheson back,’ he said, rolling his eyes to the side to stare at her. 

‘That’s different,’ Charlie said. ‘If you tell me, I’ll ask Monroe to let you go to the Wastelands.’

‘If I don’t?’

‘I deal with your execution now.’

Laramie closed his eyes. ‘It’ll be Blake,’ he said. ‘He was heading back in after meeting an informant.’

In the pen Zuniga swore viciously, swearing to rip Laramie’s goddamn tongue out. The corners of Laramie’s mouth twitched in acknowledgement, but he went on. 

‘He had a cache of weapons out there. Mortars.’

Charlie took the gun away from his temple and he sagged. ‘Lock him back up,’ she told the guard, jerking her head back at the pen. ‘Away from them. Not a bruise on him when I get back, understood?’

*********

An arrow took Don Blake through the shoulder, pinning him to the tree he was hiding behind. He yelled, the sound echoing off the surrounding trees, and tried to wrench himself free.

Charlie vaulted over the tree trunk and skidded down the slope, half-standing and half-on-her-ass. Looking over his shoulder, twisting awkwardly around the new fulcrum of the arrow, Don snarled and groped in his jacket. He pulled out a grenade, a rusty old green thing, and grabbed at the pull with his teeth.

Before he could pull it, Charlie cracked him in the skull with the base of her crossbow. He went limp, dangling from the arrow as blood wicked through his shirt. Sticking her fingers in her mouth Charlie whistled, a piercing, two-note all clear assurance, and searched him briskly for weapons.

Smart thing would be to kill him. Charlie still couldn’t quite bring herself to do it, not to someone who was helpless. She left him there till later and ran the rest of the way to the road.

Worried blue eyes found Miles. He had blood on his face, clotting his hair to his head, but he was snapping orders as they tried to move a tree. 

No. Charlie slung her crossbow and ran over the road, skidding to her knees next to the pinned Monroe. His lips were bloody and his face grey and clamped in with pain.

‘Bass?’ she said, running her fingers through his hair. ‘Sebastian, come on. You can’t be killed by a tree, you dick.’

He didn’t answer. Miles tugged her away, holding her as the men levered the tree up and dragged Bass from under it. He left a trail of blood on the ground behind him. 

His injuries turned out to be a broken leg and a crack on the head. ‘He’s had worse,’ Miles assured her confidently. Bass insisted he hadn’t. 

It wasn’t the family Charlie had set out to save, but it was the only one she had.


End file.
